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If I was the messiah
If I was the messiah, I would stand on the peak of the mountain and call all these people toward me. I would look at all these people and promise to save them from the claws of poverty and intellectual destitution. I would want to ma, I would want to carry my cross and theirs too but it is heavy, too heavy. I would want to fight their wars, both large and small. The soul is willing but ma, my flesh, it is weak. I pray to quit, I pray to drop it down and walk away but I told the forgotten that they shall not be anymore. Help me ma, pray for me, that if possible, the cup be taken away from me for the drink sure is bitter. I love the victory ma, but I hate the war. I would love to stick to my words but the tongue is my prisoner and I can’t walk away from it. The road to Nineveh has become tough and crowded, I would want to ma, but it is hard and heavy. I have to abandon the cause and run or else I shall lose my mind. If I was the messiah I would listen to them but ma, I am a helpless man, carrying on my lean shoulders the hope of a stray generation. I would find them all if I found myself first. I would tell them how to walk if I wasn’t lost in the first place. I know not why I took it upon myself to fight for the people when I was yet to fight my own battle. I would love to wake up some morning and realize it was a dream, but which dream leaves one drenched in sweat and tears? Which kind of dream breaks hearts and bends the will? Which dream is that which allows one to be crucified high up a tree? If I was the messiah ma, would you tell me why I quit on myself and not on other people? If only hope was tangible, I would deliver it to every household and light it in their lamps. If there was enough fuel I would let the light shine till the night is shooed away. If I was the messiah I would tell them all to go home, for Atlas is going to carry all their problems but pa, I have more than what all these have, but they won’t listen, neither will they believe when I say it. Tell them brother, that I am not the messiah. I would want to come down, to save myself but the people below there, so full of expectation and mockery in the same breath? Should I stop them from crying over me? Should I stop them from planning how they will pull me down? It is a lonely world, with a few workers and a multitude of eaters. If I was the messiah I would have fed them all but ma, the soul is willing but the flesh is weak, if it is possible, this cup be taken away from me. I would love to save them all but ma, I am not the messiah. I’m just a thief hanging by his side.

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